


Platinum Playpen

by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit



Series: Precious [3]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: BDSM, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Eat Your Vegetables, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, PWP, Rule 63, Vampires being vampires, and be a good girl, danny is nineteen, do your homework, power differential, previously agreed upon limits, slight age play elements, sticky summer sex, stoplight method, the word queening would be misleading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit/pseuds/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit
Summary: So there she was, sprawled on Vlad’s couch and watching brain-melting cartoons on his swimming pool-sized TV. It was Monday. And like every Monday since that rooftop come-to-Jesus meeting three months ago, she was at Vlad’s place in downtown.





	Platinum Playpen

 

So there she was, sprawled on Vlad’s couch and watching brain-melting cartoons on his swimming pool-sized TV. It was Monday. And like every Monday since that rooftop come-to-Jesus meeting three months ago, she was at Vlad’s place in downtown. Sure, she’d have dinner with him on Wednesdays and spend most of the weekend with him, too, but it was Monday when she really needed him most. They both knew she didn’t need a key to his place to get in, but he’d given her one anyway. _These gestures are cultural mainstays for a reason,_ he’d told her. Maybe he’d regret it today when he came home and saw how much she was sweating on his furniture. It was the sweltering start of May, and it left her skin sticking to his couch wherever her shorts and t-shirt left her bare.

Right at 5:20, he comes through the front door with a heavy-looking briefcase and a ponytail she wants to tug on. He gives her a smile as he sets his case on the floor and eases down beside her, his arm slung over the back of the couch. “Hi,” she says, sidling closer until she’s draped over his side.

“Hello, my dear,” he answers, immediately setting about carding his fingers through her hair. “How was your day?”

“Fine. You?”

“Productive, but long.” His fingers stop playing with her hair as he pulls back and meets her eyes, asking intently, “Did you do all of your homework?”

A tingle went up her spine. “Yes.”

“Did you eat all of your peas at lunch?”

She wrinkles her nose, thinking of the wonderful lunch he’d packed her, which was ruined only by the way he’d made a point of including green peas on the side. “ _Yes._ “

He kisses her on the forehead and murmurs, “That’s my good girl,” right there on her temple. She closes her eyes, feeling the words wash over her.

“Yep, that’s me,” she says flippantly, like the gentle affection in his voice isn’t making her wet, like she hadn’t been needing this all day. He tousles her hair, which he always seemed to get a kick out of doing. She scowls at him, so he starts carding through it again, if only to straighten it out. That evolves into his nails scraping over her scalp, his fingertips dragging just behind her ear. She lets a little moan slip out, feeling unashamed about it when he knows just how sensitive she is behind her ears. He lingers there, pressing gently. When the energy, the _eagerness_ buzzing inside of her builds up to the point where she needs to do something, Danny leans up to give him a kiss: right on the spot where his sideburns vanish into slightly bristly skin.

Vlad turns his head just enough for a kiss on the lips, something light and easy and soft. But then he’s fingering that spot behind her ear again and they’re making out, mindless of the sweat on them both or the fact that Danny probably tastes like whatever she ate last. Just for the hell of it, she pulls on his ponytail. Because he has a solid love/hate relationship with having his ponytail pulled, his breath heaves like he likes it but he pulls away from her with a disapproving expression. It’s pretty hot.

She squirms, trying to get comfortable despite the ache between her thighs. “Be still," he tells her. "Let me look at you.”

He says that, but it turns out that looking actually means touching: fingers playing with her pink mouth, trailing over her neck, coming just shy of playing with her breasts, then flirting with the place where her shirt meets her shorts. One of his hands threads fingers through her belt loops while the other rubs right over her zipper. She turns so she can lay fully against the backrest, that way she can spread her legs a bit. “Be still,” he tells her again, just before cupping her and rubbing his whole palm over the most sensitive part of her body. Danny tries to stay still, she really does. But it’s impossible when he starts playing with her clit through her clothes, his ring finger lingering over it. Rubbing just like that: back and forth, denim be damned. She writhes, unable to help herself. “Do I need to chain you up, my dear?”

She moans _yes,_ but it comes out sounding like, “ _Hnnnnn._ ” He laughs at her, but not meanly. It’s more like... knowingly? Indulgent might be a better word for it.

“To the bedroom with you, then.” He urges her off the couch with a hand behind her back, and she stumbles through the house headed for his room. “Kneel on the center of the bed. Clothes off. _All_ of them.”

Goddamn, he knows her well. She likes being touching through her panties, so she has an awful habit of leaving them on until the last possible moment. This time, though, she starts hauling off her clothes halfway down the hall. Her bra had been off since the minute she'd stepped through his front door, so her breasts bounce free when she flings her shirt to the floor. A moment later, she’s shimmying out of her jean shorts, and then the slightly sweaty panties underneath.

She had painstakingly shaved for this. So yeah, it’s nice when she can hear him start walking faster like he wants to get a better look. But she’s the one who reaches the double-doors of his bedroom first; she’s the one who flings them open and aims right for the bed. She crawls onto it, turns, and kneels facing him with her hands braced on her thighs. He gives her a long once-over like he just can’t resist doing it, and then he places that heavy briefcase on the corner of the bed. Honestly, she hadn’t even realized he’d brought it with him.

Danny has just a moment to wonder what’s inside of it before he enters the lock code and pops it open. The whole inside of it is cushioned with velvet, which has sunken under the weight of a pair of platinum handcuffs and a chain so long, it could have coiled around her entire body. Reassuringly, there were also three keys. You know, in case they dropped the first two down the toilet.

Still, her mouth goes dry--in a good way. In a very, very good way. This is definitely an upgrade from the fancy rope they’d been using when they were feeling adventurous.

And then Vlad begins the arduous process of actually chaining her up. He stands by the bed and holds her wrist up to his mouth, kissing it before wrapping a cuff around it and locking it with a _click._ He must have taken her measurements at some point because these were the kind of cuffs that wrapped around most of her forearms, like bracers--and they fit perfectly. Cool metal against her skin, as close as a promise.

Vlad kisses her other wrist before encasing it in platinum, too. He loops a short chain between them, harnessing her wrists together. Then he pulled that long, long chain from his briefcase. He clipped it to the link between her cuffs, then his eyes flared that ghostly red and he floated up to the ceiling, attaching the enormous chain to one of the hooks up there, like he’d sometimes do with rope when he wanted her arms strung up over her head. But this stuff was much louder. It made a tinkling sound as she shifted to watch what he was doing up there--something complicated to keep the extra chain in place. It rattled even louder when she tilted her head back to take another look at her shiny new cuffs.

They should be overkill. They should be gaudy. But she ends up just taking a moment to admire the way they contrast against her skin, how nice and cool they are against her inner wrists. Apparently satisfied with his work, Vlad drifts back down again. The moment his feet touch the floor, he starts pacing around the bed to examine her. He does that for some time. It stopped being unnerving about three weeks into their relationship. The perils of fucking a perfectionist.

As she kneels there with her arms above her head, she suddenly realizes that she’s been spending enough time with Vlad Masters to spot platinum on sight. She’d call him a bad influence, but look at what she’s gotten him into.

The sound of dress shoes whispering on carpet brings her back to the present. Namely, it reminds her that he hasn’t even taken off his shoes yet. There was a strong possibility that they’d stay on, too. There’s really something to be said for being naked in front of a fully-clothed man who adores you. He’s in a plain white collared shirt today, with the sleeves rolled up so that she can watch the way his forearms work as he nods to himself, pulls the briefcase shut, and sets it in the the corner of the room.

When he turns around, she says just about the only thing she can to get this show on the road: “Hi, Daddy.”

He melts. She knows that because his eyes crinkle, he joins her on the bed, and he immediately starts touching her. He’s just petting her stomach at the moment, but even that feels really nice. And then he hugs her. Just wraps his arms around her and squeezes her in a way that tells her that he doesn’t want her to go anywhere. Maybe getting chained up is just an exaggerated version of that.

Then he’s stroking her back, tracing the dimples over her butt, dragging his hands softly over her sides where she’s ticklish, massaging the undersides of her arms, and curling his fingers around her cuffs as if he, too, wants to admire them.

They’re nearly eye-to-eye as his palms coast back down her arms. She has the sudden, panicked realization that if he wants to tickle her, then there’s no stopping him. Vlad doesn’t even try it, though. He bypasses her armpits completely in favor of palming her breasts, where her nipples are already tight and poking out from between his fingers when he squeezes. It’s good: the moan leaving her mouth, the look in his eye when he squeezes again and leans down to pinch one between his lips. Her body starts moving, then: arms jerking in a satisfyingly useless kind of way, her core flexing in that way it does when she wants something inside of her. Apparently he’s reading her mind because he just sucks her nipple deeper into her mouth and skims one hand down her side, trailing through the place where--by the grace of God or the Ghost Zone or whatever higher power governs these things--she doesn’t have razor burn, for once.

Vlad fingers her like he knows what he’s doing: gliding his fingertips over her labia before resting a fingertip over her entrance. His mouth leaves her breast to say, “Ah, so wet already.” She doesn’t have time to be embarrassed because he’s already inching his index finger inside of her, knowing her body well enough to go deep on the first push.

“Oh!” she cries, tugging helplessly on her cuffs. Sure, she could phase through them in an instant, but that’s not the point. The point is that she doesn’t _want_ to.

He starts thrusting with that finger now, breathing hot breath onto her collarbone as her hips work for it. Time does that thing that it always does when they’re having sex: it lengthens, chases its own tail, and suddenly it’s midnight. Which is just to say that she has no idea how long Vlad fingers her for. All she knows is that her breasts feel bright with sensation from his mouth and she is wriggling on his hand, feeling caught.

Then the pace is slowing and there is a wet noise as he takes his finger out for good. Finally, finally, he transforms. She loves having sex with him when he’s human, but right now she needs those teeth sunken one inch inside of her. She needs that scary face grinning devilishly at her while his claws trace secret shapes over her thighs. And apparently, he knows it.

Fresh from the transformation, he’s already stripping off his gloves. Then his hands are on her back, with him leaning down to wrap his lips around her areola again. Only this time, he draws blood there, right from her breast. Her back bends, the air knocked right out of her. The pinch of his teeth is sharper, but so is the pleasure flooding her body, sparkling in her toes and bringing tears to her eyes as she moans and moans and moans. He takes a few good gulps and then lets his fangs retract. Immediately, her areola begins to heal, prickling twice as much as it would if he’d drunk from somewhere else.

Being the cleanly guy he is, there isn’t a single speck of blood around his mouth when he raises her head and kisses her cheek. He eyes the chain over her head, then floats to the ceiling again to loosen it by a few inches, so that she sinks a little closer to the bed. She’s already wrung out enough that she just lets her arms hold her up, her knees spreading that much further apart. She absently notes that her pussy is dripping onto the bedspread, spread wide open perhaps half a foot above the mattress.

When he drops back down to the bed, she’s confused to see him on his back. But then he’s rearranging himself until his head is between her thighs. At the sharp sound she makes when she understands, he gives her a toothy kiss high on her calf, then nestles his face right between her legs. That first lick is to the left of her labia, where the skin begins to turn pink and sensitive. She jerks, somehow unprepared for it, and the links of her chain clack together. He licks her again—this time in one long sweep from where her folds taper into her hole, all the way to her clit. “F-fuck,” she breathes.

“Mmmm,” he agrees. The vibrations of it raise goosebumps all over her, and the goosebumps are there to stay when he starts circling her clit with his tongue. He keeps his focus to the left of it, just the way she likes. Vlad sucks her clit into his mouth and it makes her brain go to pieces, but when it gets overwhelming in a bad way, she says, “Yellow!” He withdraws, placing another absent kiss on her thigh as he says, “Too much?”

“Too soon,” she agrees.

He hums in understanding and refocuses his attention elsewhere: the flex of her inner thigh, her mound, the lower folds of her labia that start dripping again when he tongues them like that. Which is, in short, how she ends up moaning that same moan again, staring down at the enormous tent at the front of his pants. She jerks on her chain again, straining fruitlessly to touch it.

“Daddy. Daddy, I want to touch you.” He chuckles into her pussy and she jerks at the sensation, liking it but also finding it uncanny. He keeps stroking her with his tongue but reaches up to pet her stomach, as if to say, _See? You are touching me._

Then his tongue is moving further down, clearly flirting with idea of pushing inside of her. She grunts at the touch of it and tries to sink further down, to pull it inside of her. Vlad goes to town on it, but also manages to take his time with it, too: kneading her bare thighs as he sets his own pace and sticks to it religiously. His tongue pushes in, retreats, and repeats. Danny tries and fails to feel embarrassed about the heinous noises her pussy is making. It just seems so secondary to the sense of heat building, of the strain in her outstretched arms, of belonging to someone.

He fucks her with that tongue for at least five minutes, which leaves his nose needlessly breathing hot air against her core. Her mind goes blank, for a time. She lets the sensations sweep her away: platinum against her wrists, Egyptian cotton under her knees, warm summer air on her flushed face. A face between her legs. Fangs pressed harmlessly on either side of her entrance.

He’s breathing hard by the time his tongue draws out for good. But that doesn’t seem to discourage him in the least as he works his way back up to her clit, slowly this time. By the time he actually touches it with the tip of his tongue, it seems like she’s never been this wet in her life. She can feel the stickiness on his cheeks even as she cries out at the sensation of him touching her there, where she’s finally good and ready for it. That initial touch blends into a continuous series of circles around her clit that leave her rocking down onto his face, his tongue making absolutely obscene noises again. Distantly, she can hear her toes pop from how hard she’s curling them.

One of his fangs--perhaps accidentally, perhaps not--brushes against her labia and she jerks. Vlad reaches around, grabs her ass with both hands, and brings her down harder on his face. She could swear that she yells, but she’s a little too lost for the sound to register.

He licks and licks, and all she can do is take it, listening to her own panting as lightning gathers at the very center of her body. His tongue is circling faster now and her hips begin to pulse off-beat and uncontrollably, a high sound scraping out of her throat. Finally, Vlad decides to suck her clit into his mouth one more time and her vision goes white, white as Christmas.

Her whole body pulls taut, her hips still, her toes pop again. A throb of pleasure runs through her, carrying her mind off with it. An earthquake in the heart and a hurricane in the brain. She drips a little more, just enough that she can feel it wetting her thigh.

When she finally resurfaces from that feeling, Vlad has retaken his human shape and is wiping her face with a cool cloth, his own face clean again. She’s still kneeling, her arms slack against her chain. Vlad might not be a good guy, but he’s a great Daddy. He knows she doesn’t like being untied unless she’s fully alert for it. She yawns and sits up straighter. And some way, somehow, he’s suddenly holding a spoonful of strawberry ice cream up to her lips. She meets his eyes and takes it into her mouth, letting it gently melt and wake her up a little more. Looking utterly rapt, he puts the spoon to her lips again and she smiles as she eats it this time, thinking about what a cuddly pushover he is.

God, she loves Mondays.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Vlad is such a service top, I swear to God. DLasagne was my beta throughout this process--please offer your eternal gratitude.
> 
> You can find my tumblr at letalavelle.tumblr.com, which is where I usually let people know about updates and things.


End file.
